


All I Perceive

by Aris



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety everywhere, Community:Avengerkink, Eating Disorders, Fill, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Lonely Tony Stark, OOC everyone, Self Confidence Issues, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Warning: Loki, in which Tony needs like x10000 hugs and a bandaid and maybe a better childhood, there probably will be gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>PROMPT:</b><br/>Tony is being left out of The Avengers, and puts it down to him being useless/boring/only good for his money. No one notices what's up before Tony's gone pretty far down the road of self hatred, thinking about when he was abused as a child and about how Howard was right.</p><p>(Or, the one where I make Tony sad for a really long time)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with Shawarma.

The teams' laughing, happy, and maybe a little exhausted. Thor is exclaiming about 'strange midgardian delights' to Clint, whose insisting he try his wrap, because chicken is apparently very different to lamb, while Steve picks uncertainty at the food, clearly unfamiliar with it. Bruce can be seen leaning backwards, a contented smile on his face - despite being surrounded by meat - as he chats quietly to Natasha, something about a country they've both visited in the past. The warm look of interest on the Black Widow's face fits her startlingly well, and it's possibly the first time Tony has ever seen her so laid back. Relaxed even.

Tony feels content.

Yet, his ribs ache in an unsettling way. He's pretty sure at least one of them is fractured, broken, at a push, but he was unwilling to get medical attention two hours ago and he's still unwilling now. There's something that doesn't ring right with white rooms and rubber gloves and the suffocatingly sterile smell of disinfectant, something that, if he squints, reminds him a lot of his childhood. Besides, Tony'll get better. He always does. He's great at bouncing back, at pretending like it doesn't hurt - he's had worse than a sore rib, right? Dealt with more than a few bruises and a shattered bone. He's probably overreacting as it is, even thinking about. Howard always said-

Who cares what Howard said? Except for the whole world, the technological world, anyway, and the few million lives he destroyed. The countries he bombed to the ground and, sometimes, the countries he saved through having the bigger stick.

But Howard said a lot of things, and what the World doesn't know won't hurt it. It even saved it. 

Tony had been ready to die. It kind of gives him a headache, and if he leans forward to rub lightly at his forehead, the spiking pain of his ribs be damned, no one comments.

It's ten minutes later, when the rest of the group have gathered around one end of the table, drawn in around Steve to eat his Shawarma for him (and in Bruce's case, to watch it be eaten with tremendous enthusiasm by Thor), that Tony realises he hasn't spoken since he ordered for them. It's a dumb kind of feeling when he looks to his left and sees an empty chair, a shattered window and an abandoned broom leaning against a scratched wall, but no team mate. It's a dumb kind of feeling when Tony looks over at his teammates, no, The Avengers, and realises that, yeah. This might have been a one off thing.

Tony would have died for much less.


	2. Chapter 2

It's Fury's idea to move The Avengers into Stark Tower, or A tower, as Tony hasn't got round to fixing it. He may or may not be deliriously happy that it could be mistaken for The Avengers Tower, and that he could be mistaken as one of The Avengers. For one of these _talented, brave people._ Except he's really just a consultant, a consultant with a lot of money and a big, largely undamaged tower. Tony can't blame Fury for insisting; he'd been used for his money all his life, and he'd rather it be used for good things, like housing The Avengers. Not bad things - like building bombs. Plus, in designing floors for them all he got an excuse to call Pepper, to hear her voice. Even if was just to ask what kind of things constitute decoration.

If he was honest, he'd already finished the floor plans when he called Pepper. But a exasperated Pepper talking about old art work that Steve might like was better than no Pepper at all. Hell, an angry Pepper yelling at Tony about how much of a disappointment he was for drinking was better than no Pepper at all.

Tony missed Pepper. A Lot. The whole 'don't think about it' thing wasn't going to well, but it was easier to ignore that then the flashes of a smile and the phantom touch of smooth skin

"Sir," JARVIS's accented, soothing voice pulled Tony from his momentary stupor, "Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton have entered the lobby. Shall I bring them to floor 92?" 

"Yes, JARVIS. Make sure Barton doesn't destroy anything."

"Certainly, sir." JARVIS quietens and Tony sets down his crystal tumbler, pushing his chair away from the workshop table. He was building a communicator that would be capable of picking up and responding to signals from earth, as well as a coupling signal enhancer so the signals from Earth wouldn't peter out after Pluto or something equally unsatisfying. NASA would love it. Tony doesn't think about why he's really building it. 

He makes his way out the lab and up to 92, arriving just as the lift opens. As the two agents step out, Tony realises he left his tumbler back in the lab, and that he feels oddly naked without it, instantly missing the comforting pressing off solid, cold crystal against his calloused hands. Meeting Natasha's eyes, Tony also thinks that a little more liquid confidence wouldn't be too bad - but, he was Tony Stark. Fake it till you make it.

"Hey guys! Glad, SHIELD finally let you out of your cage, bought a lot of luggage, I see?" In Natasha's hand is a single, small bag which is black and completely standard, while all Clint has is his bow and arrow on his back, and a suspicion expression on his face - which Tony counts as baggage because, come on, seriously, no guy can be this paranoid and get a good nights sleep. 

"...Talkative," says Tony after a few moments silence, "Well, then. I, uh, guess I better go back to the lab. Busy, busy - lots of important scientific discoveries to make. Just checking you guys were all good, and, uh. Yeah."

Natasha stares at him, expression blank.

"JARVIS will show you to your floors. Or floor, if you want to share, i mean - I'm totally cool with that," Clint's hand tenses, briefly flicking towards his back, and Tony sure as hell knows a dismal when he sees one (at least that's something Howard taught him), and calls out a goodbye he hopes is passed off as arrogant-asshole enough for Natasha to pay it no attention. 

The comforting taste of whiskey is a sweet balm when Tony is finally tucked safely back into his lab, away from the tense silence of the rest of the tower. 

He would have thought having more people around would ease the loneliness, but he can't even get ~~his teammates~~ The Avengers, to say hi to him. Tony should be used to it. It doesn't make the bitter taste in his mouth any easier to drown out, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve Rogers, Tony's childhood hero, arrives with Bruce Banner, one of Tony's scientific hero's, Tony doesn't come down to greet them. He mutters something about telling Natasha to JARVIS, eyes fixed on the screen as Steve, dressed in browns and cremes, stepped into the elevator, eyes up at the ceiling as if he would be able to see JARVIS. Bruce follows, less cautious and looking a little bemused, his hair ruffled messily around his ears and the top two bottoms of his shirt failing to meet. 

The man he had been raised to be, and the man he wanted to be. He didn't dare entertain thoughts of interacting with them, remembering the stilted, stiff silence that the SHIELD agents had met him with - it was bad enough facing rejection, even an expected one, from two half-strangers, but Tony didn't even want to think about Captain America scowling at him like he'd done back on the ship. Didn't want Bruce Banner frowning like he could smell the whiskey on him, like he was somehow less human for being the man he was. The characteristic failure of the Starks. Or, Stark. Howard had got on the good side of Steve despite his drinking, had the world wrapped around his pinky finger.

But that didn't make him a better man, right? A better Stark?

The lift arrived at the 92nd floor, where Natasha stood in black jeans and a zipped leather jacket, ready to greet them. Tony tried not to feel the deep sinking feeling as Natasha smiled at the sight of Steve, her body language speaking volumes about how welcome they were, but it was a slow poison that'd been present too long to suppress. He watched as their mouths moved and told himself it wasn't weird when he turned the audio on.

"...here himself? I thought he'd be first to show off home." finished Steve, looking around the room with clear curiosity and a sort of guarded amazement, clearly still at odds with technologies stumbling steps forward in the years he'd been frozen.

Natasha snorted, "Clint and I have been here and week and not seen him once. Hiding away in his lab - he seems to be under the impression he's too good for us." She rolls her eyes, like it's what was expected of Tony. To play the billionaire asshole, the holy-than-thou idiot with a penthouse and a flashy red car.

"I wouldn't be surprised - I mean, he's-"

Tony switched off the audio, cutting off Bruce's words and pulling his legs to his chest while staring dejectedly at the wide screens, the figures on them swaying with their body movements and faces screeching to him what they thought of him. Tony Stark - too good for the Avengers. It made him want to laugh and cry, the emotions huddling under the metal of his art reactor, forcing their way to his heart. Tony was the opposite of too good, Tony was - _a snivelling excuse for a Stark, get out! Get out! I'll have none of that_ \- Tony was _bad_. Useless. Good for money and metal. 

He shivered in his chair, swiping away the images and calling to Dummy to fetch him a coffee. He wasn't going to sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my tumblr ^-^  
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

It's just his luck, really, when he burns his hand.

The soldering iron is a hot, fresh pain against the skin of his right hand, gauging through flesh in a singular, deep line. Tony hisses loudly, dropping the iron to the floor where it is promptly picked up by the waiting hand of Dummy, the metal of his mechanical arm being burned through by the edge of the iron as he rushes to adjust his hold. Tony's first instinct is to press something against his own wound, but he knows it'll make the pain worse and he breathes deeply instead, slow and steady, listening to JARVIS eloquently list the actions he should take. 

Dummy makes whining beeps in the background as Tony approaches the sink, eyes scrunching against the hot waves of discomfort washing over his nerves. He's burnt himself before, a lot of times, actually, experimenting in Howard's lab when he was out on business trips (he remembers the bruises when Howard found him, smiling and happy because - he made something! He made something!), but he's never managed to _cut through flesh_ like this before, and something in the unnerving straightness of the line tells him it might not have been purely accidental. It's a scary thought.

He sticks it under the tap and, responding to the movement, the cold tap begins to run - growing steadily colder by each second and effectively numbing the blistering pain emanating from the reddening mark. He's glad it hasn't started bleeding, at least, because blood is such a pain to get off the work surface - and Tony really hates cleaning. Really hates it. But none of the staff are allowed down here and Dummy can't grip a cloth and - and - and _Dummy_.

He hurt _Dummy_.

The high-pitched beeps suddenly become all too loud and Tony turns slightly to the right, watching the robot as it moved this way and that, gingerly holding the cooling soldering iron in it's clutches, lacking the delicacy required to fit it back into it's slot. His heart does this weird, jolting back-flip thing and Tony could have sworn he felt the muscle press against the metal edges of his arc reactor - beating erratically and pushing at the magnet. Dummy was the first robot he ever made - Howard was away in China for the entire summer holiday and Jarvis had, cautiously, allowed him entrance to the lab despite the result of last times wanderings (a split lip and a fist shaped bruise over where his solar plexus was). Tony made Dummy in three weeks out of spare parts and plans he'd been drawing up for months - he was 13 years old and Dummy was his first creation, the timid little beep and the miniscule twitch of a metal arm enough to bring a smile to his young face.

Howard had dismantled Dummy when he arrived back, furious at Tony for even creating him (dismantled being a gentle word for smashed to pieces), but Tony kept the coding hidden away on his laptop, rebuilding Dummy when he was 18 and in university. 

Dummy had been there ever since.

Frustrated at himself for letting his idiocy harm his robot, Tony takes his hand out from under the water and begins to roughly wrap a bandage around it - he vaguely hears JARVIS in the background _"Sir, may I suggest disinfecting the wound before-"_ \- but it doesn't matter, not really. He grits his teeth at the feel of the material pressing into the incision, and flexes his hand uncertainty, feel the sharp, familiar sting but having no trouble getting his fingers where they need to be. He didn't cut any tendons then - which is good - so it's just a lot of pain and inconvenience, rather than the end of his career and a slow decline into drug abuse and even more hardcore alcoholism than he's got going now. Which also might be a good thing.

He's not awfully sure anyone would miss him.

"Sir," JARVIS says in a voice which is impossibly tired-sounding for an AI, "May I suggest some sustenance? It's been precisely 42 hours and 54 minutes since your last meal and, if I would be so bold, hunger may have affected the precision of your work." _Is my own AI turning against me?_ and Tony glances up to the ceiling, the universal space everyone looks when addressing JARVIS, and wonders if it's possible for his own creation to hate him. 

Well, Howard created him, and Tony hates his old man like nothing else in the world. 

Except, maybe himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter - your interest is much appreciated - and I'm so sorry this took a while to get out. Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

"It has been 46 hours, sir."

"Is there anyone in kitchen?"

"All inhabitants are in their respective rooms, sir."

Tony picks himself up from the battered sofa, his muscles straining like thick, overworked ropes as he stretches, arms wide and stinging hand salient. He frowns, looking down at his hand and noting the red stain spreading across the bandage - _ouch_. Scrubbing roughly at his arm to work some life in it, he makes a mental note to change it after he's eaten and, yeah, food first. His stomach is starting to ache terribly.

He makes his way upstairs, trying to ignore the heavy pull on his limbs. He'd only managed a few hours sleep, alcohol not being completely capable of soothing the pain caused by the cut, and he'd promptly awoke to the fading images of a dead space, black without a light. A distinctly different black than the one of closed eyelids. The cold sweat still clings to his arms, serving as an uncomfortable reminder to the fact he lived through. Through space. 

Sometimes he wishes the bomb could have gone off a moment sooner.

He reaches the kitchen and tiredly sprawls out against a counter, eyeing the nearby cupboards with slanted eyelids.

"JARVIS, any recommendations?"

"With the assumption you wish to avoid re-feeding syndrome and potential death," Tony rolled his eyes, knowing JARVIS can see it, "my recommendations would lean towards a mineral-high shake and a serving of vegetables. Would you like me to prepare a shake, sir?" Tony makes a non-committal hand shake like _'yeah, go for it'_ and buries his head in his arms, forehead pressing against slick skin. _Christ_ , he's so tired. It feels like a cinder block has attached itself to his eyelids, pulling them down further and further, casting deep, dark shadows under his eyes in neat little ring shapes. At least Dummy was mostly fixed now, a brand new metal for his arm and freshly oiled joints on his claw - at least someone was looking shiny and ship shape, if Tony were not. Robots before humans, right? Wasn't that what Pepper said? That he only cared for his robots? The creations that were practically his children? He couldn't possibly -

"Hello?"

Tony's head whips up so fast he feels momentarily dizzy, the outline of a well-built man wavering in his field of version before finally settling into a timid looking Steve Rogers, scruffy blonde hair and all. 

Fuck.

There's silence for a full, loaded moment and all Tony can think is _'that's Captain America, that's the golden standard, that's what Howard wanted you to be'_ and Steve is standing there looking more confused than he has a right to be but so god damn _decent_ and _tidy_ Tony wants to break something. Just to see the mess. 

"Hey there Cap," he says, instead, "Why're you up at..." Tony trails off, realising he doesn't know the time and glances at the clock on the wall: 5am. Huh. 

"I always get up at this time, I don't sleep long and I'm always pretty hungry since the serum..." Steve lets the words go and then frowns, "You are Stark, right?" He catches Tony's stare and scrambles to add more "I mean, you look like - so you are but - you look. Uh. Different. Than before."

Tony snorts slightly in response, turning round to where JARVIS is beeping at him in the form of a shake machine, demanding a cup to be placed beneath it. "Yeah I'm Tony Stark, Howard Stark's son - Forgotten me already? I'm sure I wasn't wearing the suit the whole time." he places a cup picked up from a nearby cupboard underneath the metal nozzle, "Haven't been out and about since the... since the attack. Probably have a bit more stubble." and bags under his eyes, maybe a bit of weight loss -oh and, he's probably covered in grease and wearing the same clothes he's been in for the last four days. Does he even represent a human?

He takes in hand his now full glass and sips at it lightly, face screwing up at the taste. He glares up at one of JARVIS's cameras but takes another drink anyway, knowing his AI is doing it to get back at him for the eyeroll and refusal to listen to his advice down in the lab. Tony thinks it's what he deserves for creating an all knowing being with access to his kitchen, but that doesn't stop the heavy taste of contrasting flavors caressing his tongue.

"I'm, uh - I'm making pancakes? Would you like me to make some for you?" Steve asks politely, though Tony can easily see through the thinly veiled dislike. _Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what are you?_ Not a lot, apparently. Tony grips his glass harder in his hand, any appetite he had worked off suddenly leaving him, the unpleasant blend of ingredients in his mouth only adding to the sickening feeling working it's way up from his core. The casual reminder of his true place, the forced politeness of someone who needs him for his money. He'd recognise it anywhere. Of course, what else would The Avengers need him for? 

Tony Stark was no hero.

"I think I'll pass, Cap - lots of new designs to draw up. How do you feel about a new costume? Might even be more skin tight than the last," Tony forces a smile onto his face and pours his shake down the sink, "I'll leave you to it. Try not to burn my shiny kitchen down." He pushes himself from the since, wincing when his bandaged hand makes contact, and starts towards his lab, glad it's in the opposite direction of where Steve is still stood.

"Sir, I'd highly suggest eating unless-"

"Mute, JARVIS."

A headache beats at his skull and all he can think is _'Did I drink all of the vodka last night?'_ and _'Why is Steve still standing there?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there + thank you so much for all the interest in the story ^_^I know I can be a bad writer at times so it's real nice to have you guys sticking around (:
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

Tony is jolted from his sleep by a loud, penetrating blaring noise that promptly causes him to roll from his bed, an attempt to catch himself reminding him all too painfully of the great hunk of burned flesh on his hands and ending in a chest-to-floor collision that knocks all the air from his lungs

 _Ow_.

"JARVIS, what the hell is that?"

"Director Fury has called the Avengers to assemble. He is requesting your presence immediately, sir." He's on his feet in an instant, reaching for the undersuit he left hanging up from testing the Mark 42 last night (yesterday, right?).

"What is it JARVIS, more creepy alien things?" he zips up the undersuit and presses down on the call button, bracing himself for the hovering pieces of metal readying themselves to attach to him. The helmet zooms into place first and an array of displays pop up before Tony's eyes, showing the familiar slim-cut figure of someone who was _supposed_ to be locked up somewhere in the realm eternal.

"Fucking Loki,"

###### 

The thing is, Loki doesn't seem to be fighting. There's no evil minions, no vicious strikes of magic - just a tinted green force field and a tired looking God, plus a rather peculiar forced smile and ten feet of emotional baggage, give or take some. Thor hovers just outside the shield, seemingly speaking to his estranged brother. Loki looks too distracted to be listening properly, eyes flitting here and there, but there's something very real about his attention when he does turn it to Thor that tells Tony that Loki's heard every word. The slim God licks his lips, tongue strangely pale and raises his hand towards Thor.

Tony quickly mirrors his move, repulsors firing up. He can see Barton do the same in his peripheral with his bow, and Natasha doesn't visibly tense but Tony's sure she's ready to go at any moment. Bruce is still back at the tower, the Hulk deemed too headfirst for this encounter - given that Loki hadn't actually _done_ anything- and Steve was a bit back from Thor, shield at the ready and stance offensive. 

Loki conjures something, a small ball of green light, and lets it float towards Thor. Thor catches the ball, eyes wide, and Loki's shield falls without any hesitation. SHIELD is swarming before Thor can utter a word, and Loki is flat on the ground, handcuffed and surrounded.

He doesn't even struggle.

###### 

"Thor! What was that about?" Tony lands and retracts his helmet, stepping forward and watching Steve approach Thor warily. He doesn't know about anyone else on the team, but he'd like an explanation as of why Reindeer Games is playing so nice, especially with Thor of all people. 

Thor half turns to Steve, still staring down at the light in his hands, "His magic," he almost whispers, and Tony's getting closer, interested perked as he watched small green tendrils circle Thor's golden skin. He's halted by a strong hand on his chest, directly over his arc reactor - Steve.

"Is it contained? We don't know if it's safe, we need to treat this delicately," he looks pointedly at Tony, like he's just waiting for him to mess everything up. Tony takes a step back again, ignoring the twinge in his ribcage caused by the arc reactor being pushed back a bi, "Thor? Is it safe? Why did he give it to you?" Barton drops down next to Tony, but quickly gives him space, moving more towards an uncomfortably relaxed looking Natasha. Tony swears it's not normal how well she's taking the appearance of a glowing ball of magic, but she is a spy. She totally has all the training to be that bad ass. 

"It is part of his punishment. He is to be stripped of his magic, but he asked if he would entrust it to someone he knows would care for it. He chose me," Thor's voice is soft, wondrous, and Tony's not sure but those could be tears in his eyes, "He has been sent to Midgard to pay back what damage he has caused. He has no ill intent."

Barton snorts and Natasha kicks his leg, slyly and in a way that looks like he's done it a little too many times before. It's kind of sweet really, and - oh - Tony's tipping to the side a bit too much, JARVIS blaring in his ear and statistics furiously flickering onto the screen, flashing red and orange.

"Wha-"

"It appears you are passing out, sir."

Just his luck, really, and the blotches of black sink their claws in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo I accidentally deleted my plot files before I switched computers so they're gone forever, meaning I'm left to write this fic as I go - what would you guys prefer, frostiron, gen, or some other pairing? 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do point out any spelling errors on this or previous chapters, I don't have a beta and have a bad habit of writing the wrong word or missing out words all together

When Tony comes to, it's to the all too familiar sound of small, periodical beeps. _Hospital_ , he thinks, god, he fucking hates hospitals. He'd spent enough time in them as a teenager, as an adult - heck, even a year ago. He's had more stomach pumps than he cares to think about, and, at 17, he was sure he was starting to look like a heroin addict with all the needle marks littering his arm from the IV's pushed into him in an alcohol-induced unconsciousness. Also, hospitals equals worried Pepper. Worried Pepper eventually equalled single Tony.

He needs a drink.

Internally sighing, he cracks open his eyes and props himself up with his elbows, squinting against the too-bright white lights in the room. God, you'd think for a place where people spend an awful lot of time unconscious they'd have dimmer lightning. Tony made a mental note to complain, almost opening his mouth to ask JARVIS to remind him later, before remembering where he was - well, the type of place he was. He had no real idea where he was - would SHIELD have carted him off to a medic bay? Tony should be in his one back at the tower, he knows Pepper would have made it happen. If she were still here, that is.

She knows how much he hates hospitals.

He's drawn from his inner thoughts at the creak of a door, looking up to meet eyes with one Bruce Banner. Of course. Fury wouldn't have wanted to waste resources on someone like Tony, and Bruce, honest to god nice guy, probably felt bad enough for him to keep an eye on him. He _hated_ being a liability. He just fainted. A little bit of downtime was no big deal.

"Sorry," he says, thinking on all the better things Bruce could be doing with his time. How many breakthroughs in particle physics could he have made while Tony was unconscious? God, had Tony remembered to ask JARVIS to show Bruce the lab Tony had set aside for him? He doubts Natasha, who ended up giving Bruce the tour, would have known where it is. JARVIS might have had the common sense to inform Bruce - he was good like that. Made up for Tony's flaws.

"Not what patients usually say when they wake up after falling unconscious for twelve hours, but I'll take it." Bruce has that small, almost nervous grin on his face that tells Tony he doesn't want to be here. Well, that makes two of them.Tony plasters on his trademark Stark grin anyway, and pushes himself up further; the back of his head hurts a little, collision with the ground, he'd guess, but the suit should have absorbed most of the impact, if not all. He'll look into that when he gets back, which should be soon, because the suit needs an update, anyway.

Mostly, he just wants to get out of here.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and before he can make a further move to get up Bruce is there, at his side, hand pressing heavily down on his shoulder. "Woah, there. I need to take a few samples before you get up and about," _Samples. Needles._

"I'll get JARVIS to take some back at the tower and have him send them down. Don't sweat it, I'm fine." Bruce looks unconvinced, "I mean it, happens all the time. I forget to sleep and it just -"

"Tony," he interrupts, voice flat, "your blood sugar levels were far below what they should be. I'd have thought you hadn't eaten for days," Tony's guilty face is an answer in itself, apparently. Bruce just sighs and Tony suddenly feels like he's six again, Jarvis looking down at him in disappoint after Howard catches him in his lab. Again. For the third time that day. At least Bruce doesn't hit him.

"Look," another long suffering sigh "Steve wants to come in and talk to-"

"No!" he cuts in, instantly panicked "I- no. No. I just get caught up in my lab for a few hours. Days. Weeks. It's really nothing. Cap doesn't need to, uh, do anything."

"You know he worries, he's not going to do anyth-"

"He's going to cut me from the team."

"-ing. He just wants to - what? Tony?" he looks away quickly, staring down at his legs and _damn_ he's wearing one of those dumb hospital robes, the pale blue ones with the patterns. His legs look thinner than usual, in the pallid lighting, but Tony supposes he had lost some muscle mass since everyone moved in. They had a liking for the gym and not for Tony, so it had been best to keep his distance and not leave his lab. At all. Ever. 

"I didn't even want to say that." he rubbed his face, running his hand to brush his hair, which feels lank against his hand, back from his forehead. "What drugs did you guys have me on? You did have me on drugs, right? I don't feel feel this bad on my own?"

"He's not going to kick you off the team. He's just worried about you,"

"Ha, yeah. That's Cap. Hey, Bruce - where'd they put my clothes? I'm feeling a little exposed over her," _Change the subject, change the subject, change the subject._ God, he's an idiot, really - _can't you keep your goddamn mouth closed, boy?_ \- it's just been a while since he's had real conversation. With a human being. JARVIS was great and all but... there wasn't the body movement, the realism. There wasn't the knowledge the person you were talking to was definitely on your side - and, yeah. Not actually a point in favour of human beings, but Tony used to thrive on people's dislike for him.

Used.

Never, really. He was just a bit better at fooling himself. Pepper kind of opened him up and split him down the middle and everything didn't quite get stuffed back in all right, after she left, and the stitches didn't quite close and it's all just lurking, pulsing, under his skin. He can't get it out, and he can't push it deep anymore. Raw. Festering. Infected.

Bruce steps towards the door.

"I'll find you something, but you have to let me take some samples. Fury won't let you out without a marked improvement, and JARVIS is giving everyone hell without you there. Clint had to go through the vents to get out of his room," Bruce smiles, and Tony doesn't have the energy anymore to smile back.

He's alone again, in a few moments time, and he doesn't cry into the pillows so the cameras can't see him. He doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the input last chapter! I'm still undecided, but i'm leaning towards the gen route with maybe some platonic/friendly frostiron. I feel like introducing a love interest would make this story way longer than I planned it to be aha. Glad everyone's enjoying the story!
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

Tony rubs at his hand gingerly, wondering when Bruce changed the bandage on it. He hadn't commented on it when he woke up, which was strange, but Tony guesses it's not really that important if he's a little rough around the edges health wise. As forty year old alcoholics go, he's impressed with himself. Especially since he managed to slip from the room when Bruce left and sweet talked a passing agent into giving up some standard issue SHIELD clothes. It had been easy enough to call up JARVIS on the phone conveniently left on his bedside table (SHIELD had long since given up trying to dismantle his tech) and grab a taxi while setting up some small protocols here and there to stop Bruce chasing after him for some more of his blood. 50 hours without food would make anyone feel a bit down, and the minute he managed to stuff some pizza down his throat he would be fine.

He stepped out from the taxi, placating the man with promise of pay later - he'd know where to charge to, at least - and made his way into Stark Tower, choosing the back entrance near his garage for privacy's sake. JARVIS greeted him as he entered, and had the lift waiting for him. Truly the best thing Tony had ever created, really, and that extended past convenience. JARVIS was his closest friend.

"JARVIS, anyone about?"

"No, sir. I closed down the tower after I was informed of your health."

"Oh, yeah - why'd you do that, anyway? I don't remember setting any protocols for that," reaching his penthouse floor, he started towards his room, eager to be rid of the uniform. Too form fitting. He wasn't sure how Clint and Natasha stood it. Well - they probably had the bodies for it.

"Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton were attempting to hack my system, sir. I engaged the lock out protocol in the event they attempt to find my core and disable me manually." Tony stopped at his bedroom door, a frown heavy on his brow and a feeling of impending doom already weighing down on his conscious.

"Any footage?"

"In your bedroom, sir." Once in the bedroom, door shut in some vain effort to block out everything else, Tony sat himself on his bed and made a gesture towards the blank wall where his manipulative screens could spring from. A box opened, then widened, audio switching on shortly afterwards.

"Stark wouldn't keep it on his personal floor, or the basement, it's not his style. It's likely to be somewhere in the middle, though we have no transmission delay to reliably track it." Natasha's face remained passive as she spoke, facing Clint only briefly. The archer sat in his usual crouched position, resting upon the counter in Natasha's own, small, kitchen.

"Bruce said he'd be out for a day, at least, and Fury knows to keep him locked out till we're done. We can check each floor systemically - he'll need a damn good air flow to the control panel to stop it overheating. I'll bet money on there being an air vent to it, if it's there. It's better off if we check the penthouse floor, anyway, you know ho-"

"Cut the feed, JARVIS."

Tony let himself fall onto his back on the bed, feeling a dark mist descend over him, crawling up and up to his mouth - numb and choking and _too present_. Oh god, oh god, _oh god._ Why did he let himself think he could ever trust anyone? Why did he think he could trust people that didn't care about him? Because no one cared about him, because he was lonely? He could have lost JARVIS. Fuck, he _could have lost JARVIS._

_Grow a backbone, boy! Stand up straight. Stop snivelling, you're a Stark, god knows how, Stark boys don't cry like little girls. I said back straight, boy! Don't make me come over there!_

His hand slipped under his t-shirt, feeling round his side till the pads of his fingers brushed against the tight skin of scar. Twenty two years later and Howard Stark still left his mark on his world. Tony dug his nails in, tearing at the thick tissue with an audible scratch. He wasn't good enough then, and he isn't good enough now - and, and - JARVIS almost died and he melted Dummy's hand and, god, he's just as bad as his dad. Like father, like son, right? He left JARVIS here defenceless against two master spies, with only a locking protocol in place to prevent complete eradication. He had cleared Natasha and Clint, giving them free access to most places, and, if they had gotten to JARVIS's core, he wouldn't have been able to stop them tearing him apart. 

Something sticky flowed down his side in a long, thin, line- blood, he reflected weakly, and he screwed his eyes shut tight, the pressure causing an ache to spike in his eyes. He was... he was an idiot for letting this happen. Almost happen. He'd have to add in some protocols and strengthen the control room up himself. He didn't trust any builders to do the job right and the master spies he'd so willingly welcomed into his home were liable to find the core's location if he brought that kind of labour in. As he was, no one paid much attention to his whereabouts, and he was confident that, out of everyone in the tower, he'd be the easiest to brush off and thus the easiest to fortify the room. He also just really, really didn't trust anyone. Betrayal does that too you.

 _It's okay._ Deep breaths. Keep planning. Don't think about. _I'm not here this isn't happening_.

He just had to write in some protocols, change security clearance and maybe add a lock or twenty to the air-tight dead-lock door of the control room. He's Tony fucking Stark, he's used to being betrayed, disliked, cheated - he's immune to it al, he's a celebrity, a millionaire, always in the spotlight and under criticism and praise alike. What was the mistrust of the two least popular avengers compared to all that fame and admiration?

Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The avengers aren't all jerks I swear


	9. Chapter 9

He's fine, really, just great. Caps' suit is finished and he balanced out the weight on Clint's brand new contained explosion arrows. Create, advance, perfect. He could do that - get Clint on his range (especially made, Tony wonders if Clint knows) and test out the arrows - he _thinks_ he got the weight right, but Clint has a whole different centre of gravity than him and it could be all wrong. He built more pads into Cap's suit, hardy but lightweight, and added some tougher materials to the arms, for optimal blocking of anything that slipped the shield. Not that much did, anyway. He was Captain America, after all.

Before locking himself down in his lab he had unwrapped the bandage from his hand, finding a strange comfort in the way it ached and stung with every stretch. He could see it when he worked, grudgingly healing but still red and unpleasant. Malnutrition. Slow healing. The suit would make up for any of his faults, it was good like that. It was still nice to have a reminder of his own humanity, his presence. Not everything was a dark, empty space.

"Sir, Dr Banner is on the line," Tony started, the projection he had been holding flitting momentarily. Oh, yeah. Mission escape SHIELD and run back home - a bit not good in Bruce Banners books. Probably.

"Put him through," a moment of silence and then-

"Tony! Why in hell did you leave?."

"Hey, hey - calm it Doc, don't want any episodes" queue an unamused huff, "I just felt a little home sick. Got some clothes and outed. A good thing too, what with Romanoff and Barton wandering round the place like stray cats."

"Excuse me?"

"... JARVIS took some blood samples, I'll send them down to your lab. Which you have, by the way. Did anyone tell you that? You have a lab. Cooler than SHIELD's. Swing by and I'll have JARVIS show you round."

"You built me a lab? What, Tony?"

"Not as good as mine, though. Can't be giving away multi-millionaire secrets, not even to the best gamma scientist out there. Mostly Pepper said I'm not allowed to bring - oh." _Pepper_. "Well, yeah. Uh, next time you come in ask JARVIS to show you where. And tell Clint he's a dick. Natasha too."

"Tony, wait-"

The call cuts off with a satisfying beep.

"Thanks buddy." Tony mumbled to JARVIS, dropping his hands from the display and sinking his head into his arms. "Don't want to think about what I'd do without you," JARVIS was his backbone, and it was scary to imagine it being ripped away from underneath while he lay unconscious in a ward because he avoided eating for a few hours. Days. Same thing more or less. Pepper always said he needed to take care of himself better - he'd just never really thought his own lax behaviour would affect JARVIS or any of his creations. Where would they go when he died? The answer would have been easy before Pepper left him, but now she was gone and Rhodey would likely hand them over to the military to make some kind of ungodly weapon. Tony didn't even want to think about giving them up the Avengers, not with Natasha and Clint on the team. SHIELD wouldn't get their slimy hands on his tech - not in a million years.

Self destruct? Kill JARVIS for his own selfish greed? Dummy? Butterfingers? It sounded like something he would do.

"Incoming call from Director Fury, sir."

"Oh Jesus Christ, tell him to stuff it where the sun don't-"

"Stark?" came Fury's voice across the line, sounding dangerously pissed.

"JARVIS!"

"Apologies, sir. He overrode my system,"

"Stark," Fury growled again, "want to explain it to me why your ass should still be in the SHIELD base medic centre yet it's somehow managed to make its way the Avengers tower tower?"

_Not your tower, their tower._

"It's always had a mind of it's own, honestly, it's like-"

"We had a team out looking for you," was it his imagination or was his voice getting deeper? "Bruce thought Loki had a plan that involved kidnapping you,"

"Reindeer games? No way. Didn't you hear - he lost all his mojo. As helpless as baby. A thousand year old baby with some serious daddy issues, but still a baby. Smooth skin and everything," there was a pause after his words, and a loud, deliberate sigh. Tony could just imagine Fury with his head in his hands, wondering how he'd ended up dealing with Tony Stark of all people. It was mildly flattering that he could get under his skin to that point - his most salient talent, if ever he was good at anything. 

"Do that again and you're old news. Shut it, Stark, or I'm letting the council deal with you," ouch "Another reason I had to call you-

"Oh joy,"

"-Loki needs to be moved. Preferably to a room with the same technology used to contain the tesseract. I believe you have been working on a prototype for a larger container?"

"What? Have you been snooping in my systems, Nick? I'm impressed." Tony shifted in his chair, glancing at the Iron Man suits across the room, presented in their metal cases. Even SHIELD couldn't hack _that_ far down to the suit plans, the prototypes were on a completely different server. It helped to be paranoid, and if Tony was anything it was that - people turning on you seemed to make you a little more... cautious, with trust.

"You tend to leave gateways open when you do the same," Fury's snarky replied pulled him from his mini thought train, dragging him back on track.

Tony gasped in mock offense, "I do _not_ leave gates, my hacking is perfect."

"Right," Furty snorted coldly, "but you can you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Take Loki in, Stark. I trust your shields work?"

"What! Yes- the shields work, but" but what the _fuck_ "Why can't Loki just stay in mean and greens cage? No offense to the guy but I don't really want him as a house guest."

"You're saying you don't think your shields can contain him?"

"Of course they can! Mjolnir couldn't get through them, I doubt some third class God who, by the way, totally has no powers, could get through that even if he tried. Indestructible - the best."

"It should be no problem, then. Agent Romanoff and Barton will escort him with an armed guard in two days time, shortly after Thor's departure. Make sure you have something ready. It would be a shame if Stark technology were to fail now - imagine what your investors would think." Fury hung up and that god damn bastard was probably smirking to himself somewhere in headquarters. Had he just threatened him into accepting an alien war criminal? He totally had.

Oh god.

_Oh god oh god oh god._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving comments last chapter! ^_^ updated tags so check em out
> 
>  
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> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

"There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea,”

Natasha shot him a glare - was that any different than her normal expression? - and Clint’s grip on his bow tightened. Loki, between them and hands being held behind his back by a generic guard, let out a sound that was almost a snort. If he hadn’t been looking, Tony would have missed the way Clint’s other hand twitched towards the prisoner. Interesting.

"We have our orders. Where is the cage?"

"It’s not really a cage - it’s sort of. Well. You’ll see," Tony gestured towards the lift "Chop, chop. Don’t want nosey agents in my tower longer than necessary."

"Nosey?" Natasha quirked an eyebrow, leading Loki into the lift, while Clint took control of his handcuffed hands and nodded to the guard to leave, giving the OK to leave. He did so, and the lift doors closed somewhat ominously, locking them in. It’s times like these Tony wished he hadn’t insisted on no lift music - it really would do wonders when trapped in a confined space with a wanna-be tyrant and two trained killers. Maybe not what he had in mind when he built the lift. 

"Don’t think I didn’t see your little rendezvous while I was in the medic bay," he leaned back on the wall of the lift, arms spreading out and hooking over the metal bars on the sides, "JARVIS records everything that happens in the tower," Clint frowned.

"Well maybe if you -" he started, sounding annoyed.

"Not here, Clint," cut in Natasha immediately, voice cold, stopping him before e could finish "Hold it till Loki’s somewhere…Safe." Tony huffed under his breath, and straightened up, feeling an odd tension in the compartment as he watched the floor count come close to his penthouse. Safe was anywhere away from SHIELD for him, especially without his mojo. At least Thor could drop round and visit brother dearest here, and he certainly wasn’t letting anymore super spies into his property.

Note to self: villains and their guard can take the stairs next time.

The lift slowed and the doors opened without a sound, exposing the interior of Tony’s penthouse, which was where Tony had been forced to place Loki’s ‘room’ or rather, as the agents called it, ‘cage’. The top ten floors were dedicated to housing for the Avengers, and Tony was very conscious he should keep Loki near them in the event of an attempted escape or the like - he didn’t want to infringe on the other teammates by placing a psycho alien god on their floor, and all under their apartments were countless labs and offices that couldn’t be moved - so he had ended up destroying a study he didn’t use, but really should have, according to Pepper, and building Loki’s new home in its place. Besides, if Loki _did_ escape and go on a murderous rampage, he’d be the first to go, and he wasn’t the one anyone would miss.

Happy thoughts.

"This way ladies and gentlemen - and space vikings, of course." _Smile and wave_ , but god, did he need a drink. It had been at least two hours - it was ten in the morning, right? He needed another drink. Badly. And some food. When did he last eat? JARVIS would know.

He’s pretty sure he didn’t sleep last night, as well, but he can’t really remember.

Reaching the door, he touched his fingers to the pad and allowed it to read his fingertips - a fake cautionary measure 'just in case'. JARVIS had everything under control and wouldn’t let anyone but Tony in without express permission - the wonders of an AI. Or just paranoia. 

The door slid open.

"Okay so," Tony stepped in, turning to face the trio. "Here is the princess's tower. Very high tech - sort of. It has everything Fury wanted. Minimum comfort, maximum security. I'm the dragon, JARVIS is the castle. Princess Fiona isn't getting out, even with his mojo." No one looked amused, oh well. Not like they had high expectations to begin with. He wouldn't want to disappoint.

"Uh... I have things to do. Science things. And Pepper is going to kill me if I don't sign some papers, so why don't you drop Loki off in his room and let him put up his pop punk posters on his own; he's safe and sound in here. Nothing can get through, not even Bruce. Pinky promise." Clint grimaced at Tony, pulling Loki's hands up higher behind his back and shoving him deeper into the room. The God stumbled, almost falling, but slumped against a wall, breathing unnecessarily heavily and looking back at his captors with contempt, hair strewn across his face. Drama queen.

"You do one thing out of place - one thing and Fury be damned I'll put an arrow through your head. No one will care if you die." CLint practically hissed, turned on his heel and making for the entrance, "Stark, you better not let him get free. Fury isn't happy with you." and boom, Thing 2 was gone. Thing 1 took out a key from god knows where and dropped it into Tony's hand promptly.

"In case he needs to be moved," her hand returned to her side, "We'll talk later. Clint and I have to report back. Keep SHIELD updated or Fury will send up his agents. You don' t want that." 

Tony pocketed the keys, and raised his eyebrows, fighting for a look of nonchalance. His playboy billionaire mask - threats, _cold_. That's what you get for starting a superhero club with some bond-esque spies - did that make him the quartermaster? He was totally the quartermaster. Except he wasn't _that_ vital. What was it? _Doesn't play well with others_. He got in by a slim chance, and even now it's like he's not there. Like he's standing on the toes of heroes.

His hand twitches for a drink again, and he decides it's time to push out the super spies for a date with Jack.

Jack Daniels, that is.

"Yeah, yeah, fear the cavalry. Are we done here?" Natasha paused for a moment, considering him intently, then nodded, striding from the room and after her partner. Tony shuddered uncomfortably, turning back towards the god who was straightening to his own height, having watched the exchange.

"You alright, reindeer games?" Loki seemed surprised at the question, staring straight at Tony with an expression not unlike the one Natasha had been giving earlier; but his brow was furrowed in an uncharacteristic display of emotions, hands jolting behind his back like he was repressing a reaction. Peering closer, Tony took stock of how washed out Loki still appeared, all pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, green glinting from above them. Apparently staying at SHIELD didn't do him any favours, not that Tony expected anything else.

The God remained silent.

"Yeah, yeah - alright. We're playing the silent game. I've got work to do, so when you feel like speaking let JARVIS know. He lives in the ceiling, say hi, JARVIS."

"Hello, Mr Odinson."

Tony forced a laugh at Loki's startled face, playing the prison keeper, and walked from the room, hearing the reassuring click of JARVIS locking the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took a while, I've had some trouble writing recently with some personal issues and school starting back up. Thanks so much for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions, I'm super happy you guys like it! 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

_There’s a murderer in your home._

Hasn’t there always been?

Tony snorts to himself, pushing the glass away from him on the counter and rubs the now empty hand against his eye, back arched. 11am was really not the time to be drinking, not to mention captain perfect would no doubt show up soon, trying to pretend he wasn’t snooping on Loki. Actually, maybe 11am _was_ the perfect time to be drinking. He eyed the empty glass again, slumping into his cupped hands in the process. Another wouldn’t hurt, right?

"Sir, Loki has requested your presence," JARVIS stated, temporarily derailing Tony's current train of thought. _How lovely of him_. He snorts again, and rests his hand against the edge of the glass. Loki was his prisoner, he could keep him waiting for the sake of twitchy, faux-polite team members. 

"He appears to be quite agitated, sir." Jarvis tries again, a thin veil of disapproval somehow worming its way into the words.

"Alright, alright, I'm going, I'm going... tell the drama queen not to get his knickers in a twist. I'll be there in a minute," his legs ached from god knows what as he pulled himself to his feet, feeling approximately two hundred years old. One more drink would have kicked the pain to the back of his mind, but he wasn't an alcoholic. It was just nice to relax every now and then. 

Right.

He quickly arrived at the door to the prison, abruptly reminded how easily he could die in his sleep via possibly crazy norse god, and brushed his hand to the finger pad - for formality's sake, really, as it was sliding open the moment JARVIS saw him arrive at it. The glass walls of the actual prison - not actually glass, mind you - were only a few metres away and the moment Tony stepped in Loki was instantly visible; a dark figure worrying his hair between his fingers in the corner.

"Hey," Tony propped his elbow against the wall adjacent to the prison walls, "Reindeer games, you called?" Queue Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist smile. 

Loki didn't even look up, eyes seemingly fixed to the floor below him, "Where is Thor? Where is my brother?" his voice was low, strained.

"Oh, he's your brother, now? SHIELD must have hit you pretty hard."

No reaction.

Of course.

It's then Tony notices the white of pressure gracing Loki's knuckles, the way his hair is pulled taut between long digits. The light but audible sounds of ragged breathing. At some point, Loki lost all his lean muscle, and is down to bone that haunts pasty skin in long, jagged shadows. God - Tony hadn't even fed him since he got here. He could barely feed himself. Which he hadn't got round to doing yet, which explains the buzz in the head and the constant chiming of JARVIS's voice with endless, endless hours. 

"You're not dying on me are you, Reindeer games?" he asks, instead of voicing his thoughts, "You don't want a winter funeral. An old business partner of mine from years ago died in October, a heart attack, I think. And when they buried him in November it was so damn cold only three people turned up, not a send off of great-" he's cut off abruptly as Loki begins to laugh - well, more of a chuckle. A gritty, painful sounding chuckle that scraped at Tony's ears, make the space between his bones throb as if in a sudden cold. It was so _empty_ and swollen, like something left to rot alone too long.

"I'm afraid, Tony Stark," Loki's head falls straight into his cupped hands, the grip on his hair failing, "that no matter when I die, I shall have no funeral. I believe a celebration would be a more fitting word for the occasion." he doesn't spit on the ground, doesn't punch a wall or stamp a foot, just sits there, letting his words wash over the world. It would be rather pitiful, Tony thinks, if it hadn't of been an absolute reflection on himself.

Well, fuck.

"I'm sure Thor would be sad. Might even conjure a few clouds," which definitely wasn't the right thing to say, but things just sort of _fall out_ of his mouth when he's not thinking straight, when he hasn't slept or eaten and his hand still hurts, just a little bit, but enough to remind him that in the last week alone he's managed to hurt Dummy and almost let his AI be _killed_ by people who were supposed to be on his side- but, it's his fault for trusting anyone, for thinking he was more than this money and his mind. _For being such a self pitying little-_

This time, when Loki laughed, Tony didn't want to drive a knife through his chest just to make it stop.

"That he might just, Stark."

There was a tense silence as Tony watched the God carefully, briefly checking the surroundings of the prison were as he made them. They were, as it happened, and not a single thing had been damaged - which would have been comforting, if he didn't have the distinct impression Loki hadn't moved since he had been left here. Apathetic God if Mischief? Not good. He could at least throw a tantrum - not ask for his _brother_ of all people, and just sit there looking like the very picture of anguish. It was unsettling in it's unexpectedness.

Tony took a deep breath, "Any reason you need Thor? I can get you anything you need, you know-" Loki looked up suddenly, something sparking in his eyes, "-within limits. That is. No playdates for you," 

"Playdates?" Loki questioned, pushing himself up a bit from the floor and glancing to his hands which curl slightly in on themselves in his insubstantial lap. He sounds almost amused, and if Tony didn't know better, he'd guess he genuinely didn't know what one was. "Nevertheless, I need to converse with my brother. It is most convenient I have been separated from him - your SHIELD is most... " his nose screwed up slightly "absent, when faced with a situation where they must listen." 

"It's not _my_ SHIELD - and Point Break's up visiting daddy dearest, we don't know when he's coming back. Sorry princess," Tony shifted positions, feeling uncomfortable as Loki buried his head back into his lap, spine bending almost unnaturally. His hair fell once more over his features, hiding any trace of emotion, and they remained concealed as the God spoke.

"If what you say is true, then I require no more of you, Man of Iron. Leave my presence." Tony made an indignant sound at being _ordered_ away, but complied nonetheless. It was probably best not to get into a sarking match at 11am, a time which was the wrong side of 12, in Tony's opinion. He pushes off the glass wall and back out the door, feeling more than hearing the slide of the door sealing behind him. 

Well. That went well. 

Besides, it had been at least 10 minutes since his last drink - he was entitled for a top up. Or two. It had been a stressful day, and who did he even have to justify himself to? No one. Tony Stark does what he wants.

And if that was getting drunk before he was usually conscious -well. So be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I have now added an eating disorder tag! Because apparently I can't write anything without having one in! Not a specific ED, just Tony's lack of eating, possible triggers for descriptions of malnourished Loki etc. better to be on the safe side. 
> 
> On the subject of eating disorders, i'm going to shamelessly promote my other story, [Insatiable](http://archiveofourown.org/works/931944/chapters/1813442), which also suffers under my updating skills. An alluring concept, I know. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, this authors note might actually be longer than the chapter. I am so sorry. 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

The world swims back into vision in hazy blues and greys, a gleaming panel of white momentarily driving Tony to shut his eyes again. Everything came into focus a little too well, then, as his brain kick started into action - first, pain. His head hurt horribly, as if hit, and there was a bone deep weariness weighing down his skull, lowering his brief awareness of the metal surface he lay on, cold and unforgiving. His stomach twisted in neglect, clenching down on nothing but acid as his appetite demanded attention, quelling only slightly in the face of a creeping nausea, courtesy of good old Jack Daniels. 

He never did get that pizza.

And, he realised, sitting up abruptly and opening his eyes to his swinging surroundings, he never did get Loki that food. _Damn_. Tony groaned minutely to himself, feeling a fresh twinge of pain ignite as he rubbed his eye lids with the pads of fingers, ignoring the black oil stains on them. He couldn't look after himself - wouldn't, a part of him insisted - let alone a God. Why was he the one saddled with Norse Watch? 

Well, Fury did hate him - and it wasn't like he was an avenger. Expendable, if anything were to go wrong.

Just perfect.

"JARVIS?" he asked, looking towards a flicker of movement caused by Dummy as he zoomed his way over to the smoothie maker, brand new shiney claw held high. He pretended the stabbing sensation in his heart was just the arc reactor adjusting to no longer being pressed against the side, and that it had nothing to do with guilt. At all. "How may I be of service, sir?" JARVIS's comforting accent smoothed over him in familiar tones, present as ever.

"I need a recap. On me, the Avengers..." he took a deep breath, stretching out his arms over his head, "and Rapunzel. And order something from that Chinese place down the road, you know the ones with the, uh" he made a few obscure hand gestures "...things I like. And order double."

Tonys nose wrinkled as he got a smell of what was very much him, and added "And remind me to grab a shower. And a loving father, too, while we're at it." and then maybe he could hold down a stable relationship - though, that was probably all him. Not everything was on his old mans shoulders.

"Mr Rogers had requested access to your penthouse on two occasions, but is now on Mrs. Romanoff's floor in the company of her, Dr Banner and Mr Barton." A little team get together? Without him? He'd hate to crash their fun. Just a consultant, right. Check. Definitely. He really needs to deliver those new arrows to Clint, though. He could drop by - or leave them in the lift and tell JARVIS to inform Clint where they were. Perfect. "Mr Laufeysons status has not changed nor has he made any requests. However, it is noted, sir, that he has not eaten in his duration here, and that you have not received nutrients since your release from a hospital unit five days ago. Your meals will arrive in five minutes, and might I suggest a repose afterwards in order to-"

"That's it, JARVIS. Thank you." Dummy finally finished his creation and came towards Tony a little too fast, spilling a few drops on his lap. He couldn't bring himself to care as he smiled warily at the robot, accepting the smoothie with a thanks and a brief finger to the one spot where Dummy was capable of 'feeling' his presence. Dummy chirped happily in response and went straight back to the smooth maker, apparently set on making yet another. 

Tony didn't have the heart to break him out of the habit - Dummy was his own robot, and although far from JARVIS, he was capable of learning. And he had learnt that Tony liked smoothies - It was a feat of science in itself that a robot had learned something. He only wished Dummy had learnt how to make nice ones, at the least, and maybe not spill them.  
He placed his drink on the side and and made his way over to the door, fighting back the fuzz at the edge of his vision. He was fine. Really. He'd faced worst from daddy dearest, hell, even MIT wasn't the walk in the park everyone seemed to think it was. But Tony's just a spoilt rich kid. Nothing. Money and not man.

He was so ignorant - that's what the reporters said.

Trying to pull himself out from his own thoughts, he ran his hand roughly through his hair and hiked up the stairs to his penthouse, feeling a blackening strain on the outer reaches of his mind. Fainting? So not a superhero thing. A consultant thing. Whatever - it wasn't cool in any situation. And Tony Stark was not going to pass out - _like a girl_ , Howard would snarl. 

"Sir, your food has arrived; a Mr Birms from reception is approaching as we speak." Well that's one less thing to worry about, at least. Tony rounded to the bar set against one wall and pulled the nearest bottle from behind the bar, managing to pour out half a serving of the amber substance before he heard the slide of a door opening, and JARVIS's automated greeting. Put on, of course, to make him seem less advanced. Can't have the world knowing how much of a genius Tony really was.

Tony turned and smiled peasantly at the boy standing with a red plastic bag, eyes wide and one feet tapping furiously.

"Hey, thanks kid." he took the outstretched bag, watching in amusement as the hand that held it out trembled, "No worries, you did great. A* delivery, really, I'll write you a recommendation if you ever get a job in that area." he clapped the boy's back, though feeling as if his skin itched where it made contact, and steered him towards the lift. "Bye, bye now," The wave might have been a too much but really, the kid was practically stupefied and there was a reason Tony didn't have much to do with the press anymore - a very good reason. 

The lift doors shut and, alone with his food, Tony dragged it over to the bar, pulling out a few inoffensive containers. He separated them up in a roughly even divide and then instantly took to his previous occupation - drinking. The shot of whiskey burned on the way down, that good burn, but the placebo effect it had almost instantly was wonderful. Ah - what was a morning without a drink? 

"I'm afraid I have not gathered enough information to answer that question, sir. Though it appears your teammates to not practice alcoholism," JARVIS said, dryly. Tony snorted into the now empty cup, setting it down a little harshly. Apparently he had been talking out loud, which was all fine and dandy given he had made an AI to talk back to him for exactly that reason. Kind of. Not really. 

He had made an AI, he didn't need an excuse to talk to himself.

"I suppose I should take this food to the princess, then," Tony eyed the white boxes warily, then wormed his fingers under the cardboard tops and rifled through the contents with one of those little plastic forks that came with it - checking for any sharp objects that could possibly be used to escape his Super Awesome Stark Prison. Satisfied with his poking, he pried a spoon apart from the other cutlery and held it in one hand, piling 3 boxes onto the other. "JARVIS, tell Princess Fiona in there it's dinner time, and open the outer door." 

The door slid aside as Tony approached, revealing the transparent walling of the cell within. Entering through the doorway, Tony found Loki to have moved only slightly from yesterday's encounter - playing rag doll on the bed now, hair spread out rather dramatically around him.

"Oi, Princess. Food's here." He crouched down, opening one panel and sliding the food and spoon into the slot there, before closing the panel and pushing the slot forward with its metal handle and through the panel on the inside of the cell. Loki didn't even twitch.

"Whatever. It won't taste as great cold," which was definitely a lie because Tony had eaten cold chinese food more times than he could count and it always tasted awesome, "Your loss," he rises to his feet and turns on his heel, intent on beginning his own long-awaited meal, when Loki spoke up.

"Has my brother returned?" his voice is scrapey-sounding and sore, abruptly reminding Tony he'd forgotten to give Loki access to water, for Gods sake. He's never getting a pet - ever.

"Not yet, Princess. He usually takes his precious time up in Space Viking land." Tony's not sure why he's trying to be comforting - fucking comforting - to a God who had tried to kill him, something he keeps forgetting on this amount of sleep, but he is and it's a spectacular failure. Pepper always said he should stick to buying people things - it's what he does best. 

So when Loki said nothing more, Tony hurries to fetch Loki a bottle or two of water - technically, something he bought - all the while feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably with a combination of guilt, confusion, tiredness and oh - _Pepper._

He could eat later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Like a girl" is a stupid phrase and I don't advocate its use at all ^__^
> 
> Anyway this is a pretty long chapter - for me - and I even wrote it pretty quickly... Which is probably dismally obvious. Apologies. Enjoy
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

After a quick shower, Tony steels himself and goes down to Natasha's floor. It's the first time he's been there since he visited briefly after the remodelling, and there are a few touches that weren't present before. Fresh flowers, a hoodie thrown over a bar stool and used glasses on the counter, waiting to be washed.

Steve, Natasha, Clint and Barton are sat on the couches in the middle room of the apartment, sprawled out and watching the TV together. Clint is aiming popcorn at Steve when Tony enters, and as Steve turns to face Tony, it hits his nose and bounces away.

"Tony?"

Instantly, all the Avengers tense and Clint turns in his seat, Natasha next to him.

"JARVIS said you wanted to see me?" Tony asks, suddenly feeling meek. Natasha's face looks like stone, and Bruce is suddenly very busy with the stark pad in his hand. Tony wonders where he got one. JARVIS, probably.

Steve looks confused for a moment, but then his features quickly smooth out, "Oh yeah, Fury wanted to know the prisoner was secure and to tell you to not, uh..." he pauses "Not hack the-"

"Not to fuck around in SHIELDS top secret files," Clint cuts in, scowling. Steve almost blushes but nods along with the correction.

"Princess is secure, he's not getting out of there without my say-so. Tell captain bluebeard to piss off," Tony turned back on his heel. Couldn't Steve just tell JARVIS to relay that information to Tony? Couldn't have Fury just told him that himself? He already had not too long ago, was he playing at?

He's at the elevator when Bruce calls for him, walking up to him and polishing his glasses on his t-shirt. The buttons, Tony notices, are buttoned to the wrong holes.

"I need to do another check up on you, Tony." Tony opens his mouth to protest that he's fine but Bruce pushes on "Down in my lab. You know the right equipment is there. Just me, no nurses or anything like that. It's no good if you're still ill and you pass out on a mission again."

Ah. Bruce has to make sure Tony is well enough to fight for the team, to save peoples lives and make a good name for The Avengers. It's more believable than the idea that Bruce may actually care about his well being. Of course not.

The elevator rises and Tony steps in, followed by Bruce. Bruce Hits the button for his lab and leans back against the wall.

"Have you eaten since your SHIELD medical?"

Tony almost hesitates "Sure I did. Ordered chinese just this morning."

"Anything with actual nutrients?" Bruce quirks an eyebrow so slightly it goes near undetected. Tony would almost believe he's trying to joke with him. Almost.  


"Let's not ask for miracles," He says, instead, and waits out the rest of the elevator ride down in silence, tapping against the metal barring as he thinks over the things he has left to do today. Deliver Clint's arrow and Steve's armour, feed Loki again (do gods need to eat more often than mere mortals?) and get round to reinforcing Jarvis. Right.

The doors slide open on the lab floor and Tony sits impatiently on the worksurface as he waits for Bruce to get back with his supplies. There's an energy in his fingers, buzzing against his skin, and he scorn in Clints face feels burned into his retinas. He wants to hug Dummy and he wants a drink. God, he should have been drunker before coming down to see Steve. Everything is so much easier when there's a slight haze to everything, when emotions don't quite hit where they should.  


Bruce returns with a medpack and sets it on the side next to Tony. 

 

"Roll up your sleeve, I need another blood sample." Tony does as he asks, his own hands feeling cold against his skin and doesn't think about how familiar it is to have a needle slide into his vein. Next, Bruce takes his pulse, frowning before reaching for a small light, checking out Tony's eyes. 

"I only have scales for smaller items at the moment so I won't be able to weigh you, but your pulse is a bit on the low side. Have you been feeling any dizziness since this morning?"

Tony answers in the negative and taps away as Bruce carries out a few other examinations, clinical and professional the whole way through. Tony feels limitlessly bored and strangely vulnerable, itching to do something more with his hands but feeling like he couldn't leave till Bruce said so. It was the least he could do, to be part of the Avengers; stay fit, stay healthy.

What if New York happens again? Who can fly a bomb into a wormhole if he's unconscious?

He stops tapping, and stares off into the white of the wall in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaaaaaay. So I know I haven't updated this in ages, but I had to quit in may because I had my upcoming AS exams, and this year my A2 exams are up and I have to work hard to up my Biology grade to get the university I want. That means I probably won't be updating this until after exams, as on half term I'm away trying out unis and I'm in Amsterdam on my easter break (visiting museums stuff with friends), as well as revising. 
> 
> I will still be writing, but probably not this fic for a while. 'Poetic nonsense' series will get updates 'cause I write shit like that constantly, but stuff with actual plots and drawn out writing is rough on me. Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter, I only beta read it once so there's likely to be errors.
> 
> PS. bless your souls for all these kudos. And I read what you guys bookmarked my fic as, ya'll too cute aha


	14. Chapter 14

He leaves before Bruce can get any kind of result, and makes a beeline for the bar. He hates getting his blood taken, fucking hates anything to with the smell of hospitals and tests and just - medical jargon after medical jargon. He knows what Bruce is going to find - high levels of glucagon, low levels of glucose. High ethanol levels, too, if he isn't kidding himself. He'll be off the team before he can say adios, hell, maybe they'll take Loki with them. Assuming they leave - they could stay, take us his space and live down the contract to a T. It's not like he has anything else to do with all that space, besides house superheros. And himself.

But, he could always move to Malibu. Tear down Pepper's study for more lab space. It's not like they need him for much around here.

Sighing, he sets down the bottle before he even pours himself a drink. He doesn't need this right now. He really doesn't. This - addiction is the thing that started all his problems to begin with, and back then it wasn't even his own. It was Howard's. Alcohol made a monster out of Howard, in the smallest and biggest of ways. Outside, it made him confident, sociable - a normal man of his time with a big name and lots of money. But inside, doors shut and staff paid off... Tony would like to believes something like he was a different man, but Howard was just one man, with many sides like everyone else. And one side that was far from impressed with Tony's younger self, despite whatever propaganda left behind claimed.

"JARVIS, time?"

"Three forty pm, sir." Perfect. He still had shit to do today, he couldn't afford to get drunk, no matter how much of a functioning alcoholic he pretended to be at times. He couldn't afford to make a mistake with what was on the line with the new repairs - so much he wanted a drink, but enough he knew he couldn't risk one. If only he had other vices. 

He circles the bar and opens the mini fridge where he shoved the Chinese food he didn't eat earlier. He grimaced, still feeling nauseous, and placed it on the counter side. Instead, he reaches for an apple he usually sliced and added to drinks. Healthy; Pepper would be proud. After being angry he let himself go long this without food in the first place, of course. He was always letting her down like that, in those little ways. He slammed the fridge door shut, trading out the apple for the Chinese food on the counter and heading towards Loki's room, pointedly ignoring the smell of egg noddles drifting up to him at every step.

"JARVIS, open." He figured he may as well feed the God before he got to work on reinforcing JARVIS's core and working in some more defense backups for when Tony was otherwise incapacitated - nothing that would let JARVIS go all HAL 9000 on him, but just enough to keep any spies out. Adding some spikes or some kind of block that still let air flow in the vents was something else he needed to get round to working on, too, but he suspected it might not be today. The need for sleep was pulling heavily on his eyes by now, the whites dry and irritated and his muscles feeling eternally fatigued. What he wouldn't give for some sleep.

More likely were nightmares, but the two were interchangeable.

The door slid up and Tony entered the space, spotting the God and noting he had finally moved from the floor and now sat upright, head tipped back and mouth slightly open. The previous boxes of food were blessedly empty and stacked neatly to the side, which meant Tony wasn't starving his prisoner. Pepper would be proud.

And he needed to stop thinking about her. Forever. It really was pathetic how much he was pining, Howard had always said he was too soft around the edges; like that could explain away the reason a five year old would cry when slapped.

“Hey sleeping beauty, got you some new chow.” This time when he moved to crouch and slide the food through, Loki was there in an instant, darting across the cell and steadying himself at the wall, watching him through the glass with an unreadable expression. He was panting lowly with exertion, clearly still far from well, and his skin held an off-yellow sheen that would be concerning in anyone but Loki.

“Has my brother returned?” His voice was no longer as ragged, but a tone of desperation lay heavy on the question. Tony leant back slightly, unwilling to stand up and let Loki know he'd spooked him, or that he was intimidated him. Or were you supposed to do that with Lions? Bears? Something with fur.

“Woah, you wanna back up there?” Loki stares down at him, face still and unyielding, a red flush working it's way along his cheeks “Right. Right. Okay... And no, Thor is not back. Why’d need him so bad anyway? He's got ya’ mojo and all but aren't you supposed to be... I don't know, re-building the city or whatever daddy sent you down for?” He rocks back onto his heels, and Loki narrows his eyes, searching his face for - something.

“If you must know, the brute did not heed my warnings. I require my magic to be close to me, as it is the the foundation on which Odin has based his own spell to... bind me, in this form. Without which, my true nature shall take hold.” At his side, his fingers squeeze into his palms, his skin flashing a shade paler under the pressure. “It is a form I have very little control over, regrettably. Should he not return soon, I may become a danger. More than mortals can handle.” With that, he looks at Tony in an expression that isn’t quite disgust, but is more reflective of some royal or other being forced to talk to a mere commoner. 

“Thor mentioned you were a... yotoon. He-”

“Jotun.” Loki cuts in distastefully.

“ - yeah. All frosty, like Jack himself." He makes a dismissive motion up at Loki," So, what's the deadline on the body bomb, sunshine?” The god seems suddenly tired of their conversation, and he waves a hand in Tony’s direction in a mockery of Tony's, before turning back to the wall he’d been against for the last few days and fitting himself comfortably against it.

“Wait, Loki? Come on? Give me a time frame, here.”

“I cannot know, Stark. I only feel that I have grown weaker, and will continue to sicken until such time as my magic returns.” He slips down the wall, looking raw and and harboring an expression which could only be interpreted as defeat. Hell, Tony hadn't even seen that look on him when Bruce bust him through the condo floor. There’s no bitter anger fueling him, nothing desperately trying to escape, and the result is this hollowed out shell, playing out the motions in his enemies company. And not even playing them out well, he registers, as he watches Loki curl into himself as if to keep something locked inside.

When JARVIS re-sealed the door behind him, he felt empty in the oddest of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new number who dis
> 
> (a2 is over everyone fuck yeah)
> 
> [(tumblr)](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


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